


Reading

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 13:37:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2583308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some downtime in the captain’s quarters with an old book.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reading

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Drabble for winterkoaladreams’ “Star Trek Khan Kirk with Harry Potter Books and the argument of whether tribbles are smart enough to read HP books” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Jim’s perfectly capable of reading himself, of course, but why would anyone prefer their own voice in their head over _Khan’s_?

Khan, who knows perfectly well how fond Jim is of his deep, honey-silk tones, is kind enough to oblige. He lets Jim pick an old classic—one his mother used to read him when he was little and troublesome and a good book was an easy way too keep him out of mischief—and opens it up between them. When they’re on their way back to a starbase like this, it’s easier for Jim to get away long enough to cuddle, to do nothing more useful than curl up with a good book and a handsome lover. He owns a digital copy, of course—who doesn’t? But there’s something about the old, crumpled paperback volume that takes him back to the farm in Iowa and comfort, simplicity, and safety. 

Khan, once unraveled, is a good boyfriend. He’s had his story heard, he’s paid for his crimes, he’s told Jim things in the middle of the night that make Jim’s toes curl but his heart ache and understand. It’s taken years, but everything’s changed, and Jim couldn’t ask for a better second officer, even if Spock will always be his first. 

Khan offers all of that comfort. He sits with Jim on the couch, on their one coordinated day off, and stays nestled under the shared blanket in lieu of having the computer up the heat. Khan has one arm stretched out along the back of the couch, over Jim’s shoulders, Jim nestled up to Khan’s side with his head on Khan’s shoulder. The little hairs on the back of Khan’s neck scratch his forehead, the smooth black of Khan’s shirt soft against his cheek. He watches the words on the page without taking them in, because it’s safer than staring other places—looking at Khan too much will inevitably lead too fooling around, and Jim’s too tired for that. Besides, he wants to hear the story. It’s been years since his mother read it to him, and he’s forgotten all the details. Khan reads it with a lilt to his voice and a deep rumble that gives the whole thing a darker tone, a sexier one that it probably shouldn’t have, and Jim’s had trouble keeping his eyes open this whole time. He could close them and just snuggle into Khan’s shoulder, breathe in the strong aftershave and lick Khan’s soft skin and listen to Khan talk for hours. Instead, he watches Khan flip the page and resume talking, only three paragraphs from the end of the chapter. 

But he stops two away, and Jim waits a good minute before muttering, “What?”

Khan closes the book around his fingers, keeping place, and turns it over to examine the back cover. “This is terrible.”

“What?” There’s a hint of a laugh in Jim’s voice, but he is genuinely shocked. “It’s a classic; how can you say that?”

“It’s ill-conceived. There are so many holes I’ve begun to lose track of them.” Which isn’t possible, of course; Khan never loses track of anything. “Not to mention the flippant way it handles child abuse...”

“You’re not supposed to take it like that,” Jim jumps in, even though he knows what Khan’s talking about.

“How else am I supposed to take locking a child under the stairs, blatant favouritism, starving him, berating him constantly—the emotional abuse is staggering, and yet I see no evidence in the writing to suggest he’ll be given the proper aftercare—”

Jim almost mentions that Khan never got the therapy he should’ve after his childhood ‘training,’ but then, perhaps if he had, things would’ve been different. _Harry Potter_ suddenly seems like a very poor choice for shared reading, but before Jim can suggest moving on—he’s not going to defend a childhood favourite of his over legitimate flaws, particularly when they’re triggering to his boyfriend—Khan rolls on, “Besides, the language is unfulfilling. It’s so dry and simplistic a tribble could read it.” And that makes Jim laugh, the mood sufficiently cleared. 

But still, “Obviously you haven’t had as much experience with tribbles as I have.”

“So you don’t disagree with me on the writing style, but you do think a tribble couldn’t manage.”

“I think even if you could translate it into a language a tribble could understand, the story’s more developed than it could grasp.”

“Are you insulting an alien species?” Khan purrs, the amusement now thick in his handsome voice. “Not very Starfleet of you, Captain.”

“It’s nothing against alien species. It’s that _Harry Potter_ is a more complex web of characters and ideas and magic than you give it credit for, definitely more than a tribble could grasp.”

Khan mutters easily, “And yet you seem to understand.” Jim just laughs.

But he does pull the book out of Khan’s hands. For a moment, he considers reading himself, but he doesn’t want to bother Khan, and his voice is nowhere near as heavenly, and that was half the point. So he places it on the coffee table instead and snuggles back up where he was, pulling the blanket to his chin and hiding his legs over Khan’s lap. Khan holds him by the thighs and back and leans against him, sturdy and warm. 

With a yawn, Jim concedes, “Tell me a better story.”


End file.
